Today the countries are in the position to rage a war against each other. People here have never seen normal life since decades. Silence prevails in their houses, burkah clad women still lit the fire in the kitchen to feed the family. Citizens here live under constant apprehension, being a silent observer of the clashes between the militants and the US Marines.
Every dawn is followed with the explosions and firing of bullets. Every hour cars are exploded and war drama is being captured by the journo and correspondents in their reports and the lenses of the camera. After the dusk what's left are the dead silent open lands, bullet shells, ruins of detonated cars oozing out smoke from the burnt tires and the human corpse encircled by clique of near ones grieving over. An average individual has no assurance about the survival for the next 12 hours.
When kids are supposed to hold a pencil, guns and grenades are given and they are trained to fight. Under the banner of Jihad the future generation is slaughtered. The playgrounds have turned out into battle fields. The ground where children once played are changed in war fronts. They have no past to cherish, present is just to survive and future has many pains stored for them to gulp. Schools that taught varies subjects, now have altered into training camps. Every child who is over 10 years of age is sent to the camps to be a survivor. Geometry sets are replaced into knife and swords, explosion executions plans are hung instead of Geography maps. The subject of science explains more about the formulae of making explosive and ammunitions. For them history depicts the down in the dumps, so the results are about killing and surviving.
The left over infrastructure is even destroyed. The lanes once which were crowded market place and colonies where once people lived are deserted. The things that can be found here are; torn tattered cloth piece, broken photo frame of a smiling family and defaced toys. The walls of buildings and houses are ragingly tattooed with bullet marks, damaged window panes, fallen doors are the silent observers. Gloomy corridors and an old man collecting the arte facts/bone facts of the dead family members is the scenario here. The holy walls once displayed the beautiful carvings are left in cracks, the shrines of Sufis and Saints silently exist along with the busted walls. These areas have become combat arenas for the army and militants
The roads in the city are forsaken, the hospitals are been continuously aided by medications from UN and other countries. It has been estimated that medicines are more in demand than food grains. Life has perfectly blended in the primary colors of Blue Yellow and Red, deep blue sky, yellow flames of blasts and explosions and bloodstained clothes and bed sheets.
Every time when the wind blows, it brings with it an odor of explosive, burnt houses, grief, and pain. The province had a miserable past, future is mystery and present is melancholy. Still it fights to survive and retain its presence on the map of world known as Iraq.
